


A Way To Say I Love You

by Eienvine



Category: The Good Cop (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 19:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16414127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eienvine/pseuds/Eienvine
Summary: “Wear your vest,” says Cora, and TJ’s heart stops. She can’t know why his father says that to him . . . can she?





	A Way To Say I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> A disclaimer: I know zero (0) things about fighting fires.

. . . . . .

“Wear your vest,” says Cora, and TJ’s heart stops.

It’s been a normal lunch up to that point, on a bright, cold day in late winter. They’re on different cases just at the moment, but when their paths crossed in this Queens neighborhood at midday, they decided to grab a bite to eat together. Better than eating alone, right?

And the way they talked during lunch was normal enough; Cora got over the personnel evaluation thing a while ago, and for the last month they’ve been on really good terms. Better than ever, actually. But then TJ gets a call about a uniform finding what they think is the murder weapon, and he quickly stands and puts his coat on and gets ready to leave, and that’s when Cora speaks.

“Wear your vest,” is what she says, and TJ feels like the world tilts, just for a second.

“What?” he manages after a moment. It must be a coincidence, it must be—

She smiles at him. “I just—that’s your thing with your dad, right? So, you know . . .”

TJ does not know. TJ does not know anything other than bafflement and confusion and, for the first time in a long time, a fierce rush of hope.

“Okay,” he says awkwardly, and rushes out of the diner.

. . . . . .

Some background is in order here. “Wear your vest,” despite Cora thinking it’s a thing between the two Tonys, actually started with Connie. “Wear your vest,” she would say each morning at breakfast as Tony Sr. got ready to go off to work, and sometimes she’d add, “I need you to come home in one piece.”

Tony Sr. would grin at her, that wide, heartfelt grin that he had on his face nearly every time he talked to his wife, the grin that died on the same day she did. And then he’d kiss her goodbye, while young TJ covered his eyes or groaned or pretended to be fascinated by his scrambled eggs.

“It’s a way to say ‘I love you,’” his mother had explained to him once. “There are different ways to say ‘I love you,’ you know. I make you breakfast every morning to tell you I love you. And I tell your dad to wear his vest to tell him I love him.”

So for all his embarrassment at his parents being mushy, these moments at the breakfast table are what TJ thinks about when he remembers his happy childhood. Because it _was_ a happy childhood, and not because of Big Tony's ill-gotten gains. It was happy because he knew he was in a family that loved each other, absolutely.

When he was grown TJ moved out on his own, only returning to his childhood home after Connie’s death. So the memory of his mother’s habitual farewell to his father faded into the past, and was buried by the pain of Connie’s death and the humiliation of Tony Sr.’s arrest.

Until last year. The first morning that TJ went to work after his dad got out of prison, he came down to see that Tony had woken early to make him scrambled eggs and toast—a sweet gesture, but one that didn’t dispel the tension in the room. TJ wasn’t sure he was ready to have his father back in his life, and it certainly didn’t help that even seven years of prison didn’t seem to have quite convinced the family patriarch that he’d done anything all that wrong.

But then, as TJ slipped on his coat, preparing to leave, Tony came to see him off. “Wear your vest,” he said, and TJ froze, a wave of memories crashing over him.

Tony seemed to be experiencing the same rush of nostalgia, because a sad little smile tugged at his lips. “I just think your mom would’ve wanted me to tell you that,” he said.

For a moment the tension of the last dozen years vanished, leaving nothing but warmth and love and a sting of tears behind TJ’s eyelids, and for the first time in a long time, he thought there was a chance he could someday truly reconcile with his father.

“Thanks, Dad,” he said quietly, then admitted, “I miss her.”

“So do I. There won’t ever be another lady like her.” And then Tony smiled. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t look for one, though. You gotta find yourself a girl to worry about you. Then she can be the one to tell you to wear a vest.”

TJ smiled.

“But until then,” said Tony, “I’ll be the one to remind you.”

So that became their thing. Ever since that morning, Tony has bid him farewell with “Wear your vest,” which makes TJ smile, and occasionally follows it up with “And try to get a cute girl’s phone number! It's about time you find someone!” which makes TJ roll his eyes. His dad is preaching to the choir, really; TJ very much likes the idea of finding someone to settle down with, a wife to bid him goodbye each morning with a kiss and a “Wear your vest, I need you to come home in one piece.”

Until then, it’s sweet of his dad to fuss over him.

. . . . . .

So with all this in mind, is it any wonder that TJ is absolutely freaking out at Cora’s words?

“Wear your vest,” she’d said, and “That’s your thing with your dad, right?” Did she mean that she’d noticed Tony saying it to TJ, and, not understanding the significance, had decided to hop on the bandwagon? Or did she mean that Tony had told her the whole story, and she’d decided she wanted to be the one to worry about TJ?

The second option is impossible, of course; she’s Cora Vasquez, and he’s TJ Caruso, and he doesn’t get the things he wants handed to him on a silver platter. But there’s something about the look on her face when she said it, and the warmer-than-usual way she’s been acting around him lately, that keeps a spark of hope alive in his ribcage.

So yeah, he has no idea what it means. All he knows is that hearing the phrase he’s long imagined his wife someday saying to him, coming from the lips of the girl of his dreams . . . well, it made an impact. And he doesn’t know if he’ll ever recover.

The obvious thing to do, he knows, would be to ask his father if he’d said anything to Cora about their “Wear a vest” thing. But he can’t bring himself to do it; he was already open and vulnerable with his dad about his feelings for Cora back when she was with Warren, and Tony Sr. had not been terribly helpful at that point. He’d been more interested in a cat video, if TJ recalls correctly. And anyway it’d be so humiliating when the answer was “Nope, never said a word,” as surely the answer would be.

(The spark of hope in his chest wavers frequently, but doesn’t go out.)

So he does what he seems to spend all his time doing: ignoring his feelings and hoping they’ll go away.

Which turns out to be harder then he'd expected, because Cora seems to have decided that this is now A Thing They Do. She starts using “Wear a vest” as a form of goodbye every time he goes off to do something cop-related, with that smile of hers that sets his heart on fire. After a couple weeks of this, he works up the courage to respond with “You too,” arguing to himself that she is also a cop and should also be wearing a vest, and pretending that he doesn’t notice the memory of his mother's voice saying “It's a way to say I love you.” Cora just beams at him when he says it to her, and this is really doing a number on his head; he didn't know anything could be so wonderful and so painful at the same time.

(But every now and then he wonders if it's not so impossible. Because every now and then he'll catch the tail end of a look, or she'll touch him when it's not necessary, or she'll sit closer to him than seems normal for a co-worker. And they do seem to be getting along better now than they ever have before. And for those brief moments the spark in his chest will flare up into a flame. But something will always come along to douse it again.)

. . . . . .

They spend six weeks carrying on this way—this way where they’re practically acting like they’re married and TJ is becoming an emotional wreck over it but it’s now way too late to say anything about it because it’s been going on for so long now—until the fire.

The fire has nothing to do with the case they’re investigating; it’s just a right-place-right-time sort of thing. TJ and Cora have just finished following up on a suspect’s alibi when they hear shouting from down the road, and they hurry in that direction to find that an apartment building has flames pouring from the upper story windows. Tenants are rushing from the building, and someone is already on the phone with the fire department, so there seems to be little else to do.

But then a girl, no older than twelve, comes barrelling toward them, her face streaked with tears. “Are you policemen?” she sobs. “My sister—I was at my neighbor’s—I couldn’t get to her—”

Cora takes control, her manner steady and gentle. “Where is your sister?”

The girl points to the corner apartment on the fourth floor. “4B. She was taking a nap when I left. I was only gonna be gone a minute—”

“How old is she?” TJ asks.

“Five,” hiccups the girl, and TJ and Cora exchange a look.

“Fire department won’t be here for a while,” he points out. As cops they have basic training on dealing with emergency situations like this, but that’s a far cry from being firefighters. Still, they can hardly sit there and do nothing. “I’ll go.”

“Caruso—” Cora starts to object, her brow furrowing, but he gestures upward.

“The worst of the fire’s on what, the sixth floor? We don’t have time to wait.”

“Then I’ll come with you,” she starts, but TJ shakes his head.

“Not with your ankle,” he says, gesturing at the brace on her left leg, courtesy of an accident last week. “With a sprain like that, you’d just slow me down. Better for you to stay here and keep anyone else from going in.”

There’s a crashing sound from somewhere inside, and the crackling of the flames grows in volume; maybe that accounts for the dismay on Cora’s face. But what can she possibly say? That he should do nothing while a five-year-old dies? So she nods slowly, and he gives her a half-smile and turns to go.

He hasn’t gotten a step before she grabs his hand, and he turns back to look at her, trying hard to ignore the way her skin against his is sending warmth up his whole arm. “TJ,” she says a little desperately. “Just . . .”

He’s never seen her so worried, and he’s definitely never seen her so worried about him. Their eyes lock and his heart is in his throat, because she’s never looked at him that way— _nobody_ has ever looked at him that way. The spark of hope in his ribcage roars into an inferno to match the fire behind him.

And with the adrenaline of the moment, and the look in her eyes, and her hand in his—

“Wear a vest,” she jokes weakly, and in the next moment he finds his mouth crashing onto hers, almost before he’d even realized he was going to do it; his body acted before his mind could catch up. Because for her to say it now, and in the way she said it, it must mean—she must know—

It’s too rushed and panicky to be a great kiss. But it happens.

Holy cow, it happens.

And Cora unmistakably goes up on her toes to press into the kiss, and her hand tightens around his, and the part of TJ that is still sane is astonished at her positive response.

Meanwhile, the part of him that is way too caught up in the moment apparently decides to go all in, because when the kiss ends after only a few seconds, he finds himself whispering “I love you too.” The last thing he sees before he turns and jogs into the building is her dark eyes, round as saucers.

Okay, two options here, he decides as he finds the (thankfully untouched) stairwell and starts climbing up. Either he was right about the meaning of Cora’s touch, her worried look, her repeated “Wear your vest”s over recent weeks . . . or he changes his name and moves to Brazil.

He should really concentrate.

It’s hot in here, the air shimmering and stuffy, but he sees no flames until he reaches the fourth floor. The fire is still down the hallway, fortunately in the opposite direction he needs to go, but it’s moving steadily. And TJ pours on all the speed he can manage to reach 4B.

But the door is locked, and surprisingly sturdy, and it takes him a lot longer than he’d like to kick it down. And then he has to pick his way over a living room floor cluttered with children’s toys and piles and boxes of random things—is the girls’ caretaker a hoarder?

Fortunately there’s only two bedrooms and the little girl is in the first, looking disoriented and frightened; TJ scoops her up in his arms and hightails it for the stairwell. With that lengthy delay at the door, by the time he’s gotten to the stairs the flames have gotten uncomfortably close, and the heat is nearly unbearable for a moment, before he starts descending.

“Is anyone still in here?” he shouts as they hit the lower floors, but each time there’s no response. So he books it out of there, and finally he is through the front doors and into the (relatively) fresh and cool air, gasping for breath.

A paramedic approaches immediately and takes the little girl from him, and he’s scarcely just let go of her when he hears his name being shouted. He turns in time to see Cora barrel into his chest, her arms going around him like a vice.

“You were in there forever,” she gasps. “What, did you stop for a nap?”

She doesn’t seem angry; maybe he doesn’t have to move to Brazil. “Apartment door gave me some trouble,” he explains, but that’s as far as he gets before she’s kissing him— _she_ is kissing _him_ , and it looks like he definitely doesn’t have to move to Brazil.

This one’s better, because there’s no rush, no child to save, no fire to dive into. This one is her kissing him until his knees go weak, with her lingering fear communicated in her tight grip, and with him wondering if the way the world seems to be floating around him is this kiss or the smoke inhalation.

Doesn’t matter. He has no interest in stopping.

But they do have to come up for air eventually, at which point Cora, with her grip on him still tight, says softly, “I’d take it as a personal favor if you didn’t die, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees, and would have kissed her again but a clearing throat nearby reminds him that they’re at a building fire surrounded by civilians and firefighters and chaos. And indeed, when he finally looks around, a few people—civilians and emergency personnel alike—are giving them amused and bemused looks. Possibly because their badges are still super visible, and it’s not exactly the norm to see cops making out on the street.

Which reminds him: they’re going to have a lot of explaining to do to the captain.

But at the moment, Cora’s arms are around him, with her breath soft against his skin, and he can’t quite be bothered to care about the captain just now.

“Took you long enough to do something,” Cora says with a smile. “Should’ve known it’d take a life-and-death experience for you to finally take a risk.”

“Well,” he says, and lifts a hand to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear, “technically this _is_ an infraction.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. “At least you’re willing to commit infractions when they matter.” She hesitates. “I’ve been wanting to do that for . . . a while.”

He smiles, disbelieving and stunned and happy. “I know this isn’t a competition, but I’m pretty sure I’ve been wanting it longer.”

“You saying I’m more irresistible than you? I can live with that.”

He knows he’s not imagining the reluctance with which she unwinds her arms from around him. “You need to get looked at by a paramedic,” she says, “and I should probably ask the firefighters if there’s anything else we can do to help.” The fact that he didn’t think of that first shakes him a little. He’s still on the job, and even _the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to him_ shouldn’t distract him from that.

“Good idea, Detective Vasquez,” he says in his most business-like voice.

Her smile is both exasperated and fond.

“One question first, though,” she says as she dusts bits of ash off his shoulders.

“Okay.”

She hesitates, her gaze fixed on the knot of his tie. “You said, “I love you _too_.’”

His face burns, remembering his forwardness.

“And I’m not against the sentiment,” she says quickly. “But I was wondering . . . why ‘too’?”

He blinks. “Because of ‘Wear your vest.’ And the thing with my mom.”

Cora looks baffled. “I just heard your dad say it once and thought it was sweet.”

TJ blinks again. And again. “You didn’t . . . talk to my dad about it? And why he says it to me?”

She shakes her head.

“Wow.” He thinks about this a moment, about his highly uncharacteristic and impulsive kiss and declaration of love, apparently based off a complete misunderstanding, and his face starts to heat up. “In that case I’m super lucky.”

“How?”

Oh, and he can just tell he’s red as a tomato right now. “We need to talk to the firefighters,” he says quickly. “Let’s go.”

She’s not ready to drop the conversation, he can tell, but she lets him lead her over to the firetruck.

He’ll have to tell her someday, when he’s a little less embarrassed and shocked than he is right now. But he has hope that it’ll go well.

In fact—he glances over at her and melts at the way she smiles at him—it looks like she might not object to being the woman who worries about TJ.

. . . . . .

fin


End file.
